


all phil's regrets (not my boys)

by Teahound



Series: and sometimes home simply means being together (sleepy boys drabbles) [4]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: But just be aware, Gen, Major character death - Freeform, Sleepy Boys Inc - Freeform, This chapter depicts the boys dying in a fire, angst angst angst by brain is only angst, ghost au, ghosty boys inc, it's not graphic, pure angst, this is a prologue to the channel without a names ghosty boys AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27651823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teahound/pseuds/Teahound
Summary: The Channel Without A Name (@WolfyTheWitch on Twitter!) created this beautiful AU where Phil, Techno, and Wilbur die in a house fire, and become ghosts. Tubbo and Tommy come to stay there many years later and meet them. This is just some brainrot I got after reading literally everything I could about the AU.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: and sometimes home simply means being together (sleepy boys drabbles) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021882
Comments: 11
Kudos: 294





	all phil's regrets (not my boys)

Phil doesn’t know what woke him up. 

Maybe it was the heat. Maybe the smell of smoke. The old cabin, despite its electric lightning, and recently installed dishwasher, doesn’t have smoke detectors. 

He’ll never stop regretting that, but Phil doesn’t know it yet. 

All he knows right now is that he’s awake now, lying on the burgundy couch, his face illuminated by the flickering TV, trying to figure out what is wrong. Because something is wrong. There’s something tickling at his lungs, and the smell of a campfire is suddenly strong and acrid. His brain is muddled by the nap he was just taking, and it’s a long minute before realization clicks his mind together like a puzzle. 

(Philza will never stop regretting that minute either.)

There’s a fire in the house, and now that he’s thought it, it’s obvious. There are waves of heat pouring from the old kitchen, and now flames, licking up the brittle wood of the little cabin. Already it’s beginning to push into the main room, and Phil knows he’s only got moments before the door is blocked by the flames.

In different circumstances, Phil would already have run out that door, pulled out his cell phone, and begun calling the fire department. Not that they’d arrive in time to save the house, probably; he’s miles from civilization. But at least the surrounding forest could be preserved. 

But the circumstances aren’t different. And Phil is already halfway up the stairs, not even bothering to glance back at the creeping flames. 

“Wil!” he screams, and curses when he doesn't hear a response, the words turning into a cough halfway through his throat. The smoke is worse up here. “Techno!” 

Will was editing in his room, right? It’s at the top of the stairs, and Phil pounds on it desperately. The heat’s getting bad. “Wilbur!”

“Dad?” his son’s voice is almost drowned out by crackling flames. “What’s happening–” 

“Fire!” 

The knob rattles, and there is genuine fear in Wilbur’s voice when he says “the door’s stuck.”

The smoke is getting thicker now, and Phil is coughing. If he looked back he would see fire, obscenely bright, beginning to dance around the base of the stairs. The whole house groans like it’s coming apart. 

But there’s no time to look. Phil throws himself against the door. The wood cracks beneath his shoulder and his hands desperately fumble at the knob, trying, trying, please let me reach him, until finally the door splinters and creaks and falls open, and Wilbur collapses into his arms. 

(The fire is halfway up the staircase now) 

It’s hard to see in all this smoke. Who knew houses burned so fast? 

“Techno went to bed,” Wilbur said, but he’s wheezing the words instead of speaking them. 

Phil can’t think anymore. His mind is flames and smoke and Wilbur and Techno, and all that’s left is the knowledge that _he must keep his sons close, he must reach them._

He wraps an arm around Wilbur and they stumble down the hallway, toward Techno’s room. The heat is blistering Wilbur’s skin, and the floorboards beneath their feet, almost hidden by dark smog, seem to sway. Or maybe that’s just Phil? 

They’re halfway past the bathroom, nearly there, when Wilbur collapses, choking for air, and Phil knows they won’t make it. It’s too late. He doesn’t think of all the things he could have done differently– he doesn’t know it yet, but he’ll have years to analyze, to wonder, to wish. Instead, he takes his son in his arms, trying to make it a few steps further, his head full of fog, retching as the smoke tears at this throat and lungs. 

It’s too much. Phil sinks to the floor and holds Wilbur tightly. They cling to each other, gasping for air that isn’t there anymore, heat searing their skin. 

(The fire is already on the second floor, but smoke kills faster than flames, and there is no way out now) 

_Please,_ Phil thinks, or prays, or screams out into the universe, _please, please. Not my boys. Just not my boys. Take fucking anything, anything, but not Techno and Wil._

But whatever is out there isn’t listening to Phil.


End file.
